


Unspoken

by Savageseraph



Series: Sundered [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Community: contrelamontre, Desire, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Heartache, Insomnia, Loss, M/M, Memories, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-12-08
Updated: 2002-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-02 18:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/pseuds/Savageseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not even a healer can mend every wound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> An improv fic with the following guidelines: the last line of the story must consist of only one word (either dialogue or narration) that has an impact on the overall story. There is a 45-minute time limit.

"I need you." Aragorn whispered the words so he wouldn't wake the man sleeping beside him. His lover's back was warm against his chest, buttocks soft against his groin. He trembled with the effort of staying quiet. "I need you so very much."

At night, long after his body was sated, sleep often eluded Aragorn. His body ached, not from the damage decades of battle had carved on it, but from a single deep wound that tore spirit instead of flesh. Though the injury could not rightly be called fresh, it pained him more with time, not less.

It was a hurt beyond his skill to heal. Beyond even the strength of the Three when they were at the height of their glory. Aragorn pressed his body more firmly against his lover's. All he could hope for was a temporary easing, a span of time when the pain retreated before passion, followed by that brief, blinding moment when release claimed him.

Aragorn wanted hands fisted in his hair as a demanding tongue parted his lips and thrust against his own. He wanted green eyes daring him to resist, just enough to make both of them burn brighter in the end. He wanted blonde hair fanned across his thighs as a hot, eager mouth swallowed him until he came. He wanted his hands pinned to the ground as his lover entered him. He wanted to be pulled into every thrust harder, faster, deeper. He wanted....

As his bedfellow stirred, Aragorn forced his body to relax, tried to calm his breathing.

"Aragorn...." The word was sleep blurred, more a question than a name.

"Hush, Faramir." Even as his desire withered, Aragorn kissed the other man's shoulder. "Go back to sleep."

Faramir shifted, mumbled something in the tongue only sleepers speak and only dreamers understand.

"Go back to sleep."

Faramir's breathing settled into a deep, regular rhythm. Faramir's breath. Faramir.

Aragorn closed his eyes. Each night it came to this: the moment he was forced to admit the hands that mapped his body were more gentle than the touch he craved, the body pressed against his was leaner and more accommodating than the one he desired.

"I need you." Aragorn whispered to the night. Out of consideration for the man who shared his bed, he left the single word that defined his need and desire unspoken.

Boromir.


End file.
